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it was three in the morning. They’d spent the night fucking, but – to her surprise – he hadn’t spanked her. His belt lay on the sheet beside them, as it usually did when they were in bed, and the cane hung on the wall beside the bed. Both were unused.

She thought they were going to sleep now, but he said, “Up, girl. Up!” The first time he said “up” it was as though he had a treat for her: there was mischief, and enticement, in his voice. The second time it was clearly an order.

She murmured, “Yes, Master,” and rolled out of bed, and stood up. HJe got up and put on a dressing gown. He didn’t offer hers. He took her by the hand and led her out of the house.

The night air was cool on her skin. She could feel goosebumps forming on her shoulders and breasts. She wore only her wrist and ankle cuffs, and her collar. She was grateful for the little bands of warmth they offered.

She could hear birds above, sleeping in the trees, mildly complaining at their disturbance, then deciding they were no risk and returning to silence. There were nocturnal mammals around, she knew, but they had heard humans and crept away.

He led her down past the greenhouse, down the slopes to the bottom of the garden, a spot under the plum tree, over-looking the valley.

There was a trestle there. She’d never seen it before, or anything similar, though she knew what it was. And what it was for. He’d made it for her.

“Bend over, little one. Legs apart, head down. And reach your arms right down.” She obeyed, and attached her wrist and ankle cuffs to the snap bolts he’d put in, low on each side. She experimented a little, so she could confirm to herself that she was helpless, held fast.

He fetched from below the plum tree a wooden paddle. She hadn’t seen that before either. It looked very home-made.

He held it to her mouth, and she kissed it. Her heart was beating fast. It was hard, and it was nearly an inch thick. He’d made it, just to hurt her with it.

He took the paddle from her mouth, and stepped back. He said nothing.

Then it landed, against her lower bottom. Noise and pain overwhelmed her, and she yelped. She didn’t usually cry out at the first impact, but this was too strong. She was in its control, not hers.

By the third impact she was wailing continuously. Not loud, but uncontrollably. Except by Master. He was in control of the sounds she made, how she moved and what she felt, and when.

The paddle landed, over, and over. The strokes got no harder, but each one hurt a little more, burnt more fiercely, than the one before. Now she jerked each time the paddle landed, body rocking with the impact but held fast by her cuffs. If it was cold, naked in the night air, she no longer knew it. She knew nothing but pain, and the sound of her own wailing, what Master called her pain-song.

Eventually she became aware that the paddling had paused. Her Master said, “Thirty-six.”

She’d had three dozen! Simply for his pleasure. But at least it was over.

He said, “So I think, just four more. You can count and thank me, for these last strokes.”

He concentrated on her lower bottom and upper thighs. But when she said “Forty, thank you, Master,” he didn’t tell her she was good.

Instead she felt his hands holding her hips like talons, holding her as if her cuffs weren’t enough. His cock slipped into her cunt, deep, then all the way out, then deep, then out. She breathed in time with his movements. It was so good. But on the fourth withdrawal, his cock didn’t return. She stopped herself from protesting. That paddle was on the lawn beside her. He pushed her ass down, and she felt his cock pressing against her sphincter.

Her head dropped, helpless, as he thrust into her ass. He usually took his time when he butt-fucked her, but now he was urgent, insatiable need. She heard him grunt once, when he was all the way inside, his cock deep in her ass and his body pressed against the fierce heat of her buttocks. Then he fucked her, hard, fast, working on his own orgasm. Not hers. But soon, ruthlessly fucked, she heard herself wailing again. Not a pain song.

Note

The halo of light above my girl’s body: I’m not sure what that was. But I like it. It was a night of mysteries, and there was something deep and sacred going on. I don’t know what it was, in technical terms, but to me it adds to the magic and mystery.

I’ve been meaning to write about the cane, and how it can be used in ways that make it just the right amount of scary. It should be a bit scary, and there should be a sense of milestone and achievement about taking the cane, but it shouldn’t be so scary that it gets in the way of it being sexy.

The truth is that the cane’s reputation is somewhat more fearsome than the reality. I know it’s all very well for a dom to say that, since I’m never going to be at the receiving end of a caning. But doms learn by paying attention.

What I’ve learned about making the cane not too scary is that you talk about it first.

A dom about to introduce someone to the cane should mention that it doesn’t have to be as scary as it’s made out to be. The dom should say – and they’d better be clear on this in their own minds – that they’re going to take care. There are rewards for the submissive, like the hotness of the “you’re going to get the cane” scenario, the sharp clear sensation of a cane-stroke, and the beauty of the cane stripes afterwards.

How getting consent works depends on your relationship. With Arethusa and I, there wasn’t any prior discussion because it wasn’t that kind of relationship. I was her master and (conditions applied) consents had already been given. It was a punishment caning and not for pleasure. Well, not hers, anyway. I’d warned her that I’d cane her if she missed another assignment deadline, and she did. So there was nothing to discuss.

Instead I told her how disappointed I was, produced the cane, flexed it in an alarming manner and told her to get her clothes off and bend over the table. She could have used her safe word or said it was a hard limit, or she could obey. She chose to obey. Neither of us had any doubt that she would.

In other relationships I’ve talked about it first, and introduced the cane in a sexual context rather than a punishment one. Of course a punishment scenario is a sex scenario too, just a couple of layers of rhetoric deeper down. Anyway, the wise dom goes at the submissive’s speed, and doesn’t just get driven by their own desires. Or not completely.

Anyway, once they’ve got informed consent, the dom should usually start with a slow warm-up before introducing the cane. The idea is to focus on things that the dom knows the submissive enjoys. Usually, that means using hand-on-skin at first, and some of the more familiar instruments that the submissive partner already likes.

At some stage the dom switches to the cane, but it should be with continuity, not with a sudden “and now we’re going to get serious!” change of pace and mood.

The idea is to keep the intensity of the cane low, at first. I like to give four or five light strokes, like a drummer using brushes on his drums, and then one stroke a bit harder. Repeat, and repeat, for a long time. Without going harder. Usually, the submissive getting the cane will find that quite pleasant, in a floaty way.

Stay there for a while, with lots of stroking in general and cunt-stroking (or cock-stroking, if that’s your submissive’s equipment) in particular, and the submissive and the cane will settle down together. After a while – the dom should be watching his or her submissive very closely – it may be time to increase the intensity and make the strokes a bit harder.

The dom’s job is to watch the submissive and back off any time it looks or feels like it’s hurting too much for it to be sexy, and take it back to the level the submissive was enjoying before. Towards the end the intensity should increase, and the strokes should get harder. But the aim is to get pink stripes, not red, or raised (much) or bruising.

The dom shouldn’t be too ambitious the first time, but the next time, taking and applying all the things that worked best the first time, it can probably be taken all the way up to leaving marks that outlast the caning by a few hours and have it be sexy, at least for submissives who like impact play at all.

By the way a hard caning leaves marks that last over a week. That’s not a good idea for a first time, though you will know your own relationship. Usually, with a first, pleasure-focussed caning, a few hours is fine.

The stripe in theFirst Strike picture is unusual, because it was Arethusa’s first, and it’s a punishment stroke. There was no warm-up and it was a firm to medium hard stroke. The marks of that caning lasted about four days.

It’s not the stroke you’d deliver first if you were wanting to demonstrate that the cane is good, sexy fun. What I wanted to demonstrate was, “You want to graduate? From now on do your assignments on time, or you’ll do them standing up!”

But even then, as I said, she finished up liking the fact that she was a girl who got the cane, though not exactly loving each instant of impact.

The point is, based on reactions and comments from submissives, there’s ways of making a caning pleasurable, and the cane probably is worth exploring some time, Especially for submissives who like impact play but are freaked out by the cane’s reputation.

I’m nerd enough to have three canes. The bamboo, the lighter rattan (whose effect can be seen above) and the heavier dragon cane, also rattan. But the point with a cane is not the implement but how it is used.)

Those submissive should make sure theyexplore it with someone they really trust and who knows that they find the idea scary.

The dom has to get the set (the emotional and physical expectations), the setting (the place where it happens and the submissive’s position while being caned) and the emotional flow just right.

The dom has to take care of the submissive before, during and afterwards.

There’s much more to be said, but on the day lust and love should do most of what’s needed.

Note:

This post began as a reply to sub-bee (so hat-tip to her), when she commented on the First Strikepost.

While Lynette fiddled with the camera I swished the bamboo cane a couple of times, letting it speed past Raylene’s ass. The sound and then the wind of it unnerved her, and she flinched, buttocks clenching. Then, knowing that was wrong and possibly punishable, she arched her ass up again.

“Ready.” Lynette had the camera pointed at me, rather than Raylene. Then she moved it, presumably to frame Raylene’s ass and catch the reaction when the cane actually landed.

Accepting “good girl” is accepting that the dom’s judgement is worth heeding. And it means enjoying having his or her approval.

Dorabella smiled at me. I might have been being over-cautious. But she said, “Thank you. Actually, I quite like hearing you say it. Doesn’t give you the right to cane me, though.”

“Raylene, would I start with a caning?”

Raylene raised her head as far as she could, which wasn’t far. “You spanked me, master. To begin with. And I guarantee that Bellie would -“

“Rayyyy-lene.” Raylene’s head dropped again. I couldn’t see her face, but I could imagine her smirk. I kept my face straight. “Anyway, Dorabella, I wouldn’t do anything without your consent. And you’re still a good girl.”

She smiled, with dimples. “Thank you. On both counts.”

Irony is an ineffective shield. ‘Good girl’ still has power, even if accepted ironically

So I looked back at Lynette, patiently waiting through this comedy. She said, “Oh, you can call me ‘good girl’ too. It’s meant to be patronising. But I take it as a kind of parody.”

“Yeah, it is parody.” I was going to go on and say that even so, part of the way in which it felt good, below the layers of irony, was in submission responding to dominance. Safe, approving, warm dominance, but dominance just the same.

But I stopped in time. Better to let her feel she’d won a point than put her on her guard.

“Good girl” has most power when it’s whispered

“But you’re still a good girl, too. Thanks for doing the filming.”

Lynette smiled. She liked praise. And, more dangerously for her, she was starting to like my approval.

I pulled her closer, this time, rather than step towards her, and kissed her, gently, one hand on her ass. No smacks. I whispered, “Good girl.”

She closed her eyes, then said, “I know what you’re doing.”

But she was smiling. I said, “Does it make any difference?”

She didn’t answer. I kissed her again.

But it was time. I stepped back and raised the cane. “Raylene.”

“Yes, master.” In high, sing-song soprano. She was making her voice sound as cherubic as she could.

Lynette swallowed. She’d had her hands on Raylene’s ass earlier that morning, but this was different. Now Raylene was being caned, there was colour there, and corrugations, and cunt: the smell of arousal.

But after a second she frowned, then her face lightened. “All right.” She got up and came to my side of the desk where Raylene waited, bent over, head down. She traced her finger-tips down Raylene’s marks. “They’re raised,” she said, surprised.

“And hot?”

“Oh, very hot.”

I said, “Dorabella.”

“Yes?” Dorabella had been filming Lynette’s hand, stroking her sister, the finger-tips straying into the tender, sensitive valley between her buttocks. But she looked over at me.

“Give me the phone.” Dorabella held it out, a little puzzled. Did I think she’d done a bad job? But I held her hand and squeezed reassuringly as I took the phone from her. “And pass me the cane.”

She reached between her thighs, where she’d been holding it by keeping her legs tight together. Our eyes met as I took it from her. “I want you to go round to the front of the desk now, love. Put your hands on Raylene’s shoulders, and hold her down. I don’t want her upper body to lose contact with the desk, is that understood?”

Dorabella nodded. She looked awed, wondering. I said, “She’ll can’t hold herself down, and that’s only going to get her into trouble. It’s up to you.”

Dorabella shrugged. Life was full of puzzles, like why I would care if Raylene got herself into more trouble. But she did as I’d asked, crossing in front of me, then bending down to kiss Raylene’s forehead. She straightened up and rested her hands on Raylene’s shoulders.

I didn’t say, “Good girl.” She knew she was being obedient, and there was no need to rub it in. Instead I said, “Hold her down hard, Dorabella. If she has to get extra punishment because you let her get up, you’ll get the same.”

“I bloody well will not!” Dorabella tried to sound defiant, but she pressed more firmly down on Raylene’s shoulders. She didn’t trust herself, I thought, to say ‘no’ if I gave Raylene an extra couple of strokes and then told her to take her place beside her sister. Best to make sure that choice didn’t have to be made.

I approved. I didn’t want to give Raylene extra strokes, so Dorabella’s blushing compliance was perfect.

Lynette still had one hand idly stroking Raylene’s left set of lines and welts, but she was watching Dorabella, now. The robe was nearly open to Dorabella’s waist, though her breasts somehow managed to stay inside its material.

“Lynette?” I touched her shoulder, and she turned to face me. I picked up the cane, and held it out. After a pause she took it. “Thanks. If Raylene behaves, you’ll only need to hold on to it for the next six strokes.”

Lynette quirked her mouth. “Oh, ‘if’. So it might be for eight strokes. Or ten. Or 20.”

She was getting the hang of this thing, doing no good at all for Raylene’s peace of mind. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. We were still conspirators. I took her shoulder, and stepped towards her.

If she’d been Raylene or Dorabella, I’d have pulled her to me. But I paused just before kissing her, and she kissed me. She put her arms around me, holding the cane awkwardly in the middle, as Dorabella had.

Then I stepped back and she followed me, and I slid my hands down her back, to stroke, then cup, her little ass. I smacked her lightly with the phone, and tightened my grip. Delicious muscles, smooth under a slight layer of girl plumpness. She sighed and leaned her body forward.

I said, “Muh!” when her belly suddenly pressed against my cock. She grinned lazily, satisfied, knowing the effect she was having. I caught Dorabella’s eye. She was amused again. I was funny.

This blog, and this blogger, have pretty much turned into the Gretel fan club. If it’s not about Gretel, her cleverness, wit, ethical base and, oh, also hotness, I don’t currently want to write it or think about it.

The photo below was taken before we went out for dinner last night. So it’s just a playful belt spanking you can see glowing so very prettily there. Nothing brutal. Add very stylish knickers, skin the colour of cream, at least in the unwhipped areas, and you have a really elegant image.

She wore a “spank me and fuck me” little kilt to the restaurant, with fishnets, and attracted a bit of attention. The proprietor even came out and did all the things that gauchos do instead of kissing a lady’s hand, when they want to show off to a hot girl.

So I had that thing men get when they’re squiring the hottest girl in the room around. Not mature, I guess, but fun.

Raylene bent herself back over the desk, getting her ass up, knowing the effect that would have on me, and keeping her face turned to Lynette, knowing the effect that was having on her. I could see the side of her face. She was smiling peacefully.

She was nearly naked, showing off fresh stripes across her arse. She was the centre of attention.

She was enjoying her caning both for the cane-induced spikes of arousal and for the notion that she was a girl under discipline, being properly submissive. And – it just can’t be said too often – she was near-naked and the centre of attention.

So I made the seventh stroke hard, aiming low, meaning it to hurt. I could feel, as the cane landed across Raylene’s arse, something of the softness and firmness of her flesh, transmitted by the feel of the cane in my hand at the moment of impact. I loved that sensation.

Raylene’s sensations were less subtle. She howled and shook while the red stripe formed and raised itself into a welt. But though her face was anguished, stricken with sudden pain, she fought to keep her breasts touching the desktop and her face turned to Lynette.

We watched in silence, broken only by Raylene’s gasps as she struggled to ride the pain out without losing her position. I felt proud of her, and of myself. The seven stripes were well spaced, three of them much brighter and darker then the others, and likely to remain clearly visible, I expected, for the next three or four days. That seemed about right for a first experience, even for a girl with a high pain tolerance.

Eventually Raylene was still, and breathing normally. The room smelled of sex, or more specifically of female sexual arousal. That would be mostly Raylene, but Lynette and Dorabella were both making their own contributions. This will always effect my judgment. I felt light and elated, elevated: sex-drunk. Fortunately, most of the important decisions had already been made.

“Right. You’re a good girl, Raylene. Now get up. Off the table, stand straight.”

Raylene muttered a quiet, “Yes, master.” I didn’t make her repeat it louder: she was nearly beyond words. She complied, straightening a little stiffly.

I said, “Good. Hot girl.” I meant that her arse must be burning, and also that she looked utterly, unutterably fuckable. Raylene only smiled. She had no words. “Now turn and face Lynette.”

Raylene whispered something; I assume it was an even quieter “yes master”. She stopped smiling when she faced Lynette. What was coming was serious.

Raylene made a little sound. It was lust. Her pain, her humiliation and her consciousness of her own obedience had delivered a sudden lightning blow, direct to her cunt. She opened her mouth, and no sound came. She coughed.

Raylene was looking into Lynette’s eyes again. But it was too late for that. And I could see she was slightly shocked. She dropped her gaze suddenly, not wanting to look at her betrayer.

I took the cane out of the clasp of Raylene’s cunt, making her gasp.

She gasped again when I tapped the wet section of bamboo against her arse. “Well, Raylene, it seems you’re a bad girl. Even when you’re being punished. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I’m sorry. I did try.”

“But not hard enough. You know Lynette’s coming to see us tonight.” Lynette didn’t react to that. She hadn’t definitely said she was coming to our bed at midnight. But by letting that pass she was conceding what everyone in that room already knew. “So I’ll deal with you then.”

“Master. Um. Please, master” – it seemed I had my rank back – “can I please take the extra strokes now? Please? I don’t want to have to spend the rest of today waiting for them. And” – she waggled her striped ass at me, which should have been persuasive enough – “having to think about it.”

I touched the bamboo back to her cunt. “But you should think about it, Raylene love. I said I’m going to punish you later.”

Raylene dropped her arse, to press herself onto the cane. “Uhh… Yes, master. I’ll be thinking about it all right.”

“See?” Now I was talking to Lynette. “She is a good girl. Really.”

“Master, do I apologise to Lynette now?”

I said, “No.”

Lynette stared at me, also shocked and betrayed. It seemed she’d been looking forward to that.

“Raylene, you’ve got a penalty stroke you’ve already earned. When you disobeyed me about looking down at the floor. You can have that now, as an add-on to your first six, or you can take it at the end of the second six. Do you want it now?”

Raylene rolled her hips, so her cunt took the cane in a little deeper. “Now, please master. I’d much rather.”

“That’s fine. Then you can apologise.” Raylene and Lynette both sighed. Happily. I wanted them, both at once, right then and there. And Dorabella: I wanted her mouth on my cock while I caned her sister. But I said and did nothing. Those things could happen some other time. I raised the cane.

But though I’d sensibly decided not to kiss Lynette (she having belatedly climbed the stairs in response to Raylene’s and my invitation for her to watch Raylene get caned), I’d walked into touching distance. I said, “I’m glad you decided to come.”

She scowled at me. “How’s Raylene?”

I thought about that. “Slightly caned, I guess. You missed the first two strokes. But about to to get a lot more. Caned, I mean. And she’s, um, pretty happy about that. She’s having a good time.”

“Yeah. She’ll be telling herself that. She’s a victim not only of male violence, yeah, and on top of that of false consciousness. She thinks she chose this, but really she didn’t. Because the patriarchy chose it for her.”

My mouth dropped, dismayed. I’d had that argument before. I’d been interested in discussing it, once, but now it only bored me.

“Just because she likes something you might not choose, doesn’t mean you can discount her choices as false consciousness.”

“Well, you would say something like that, wouldn’t you?”

‘Yeah, I’m enjoying myself, too. That’s how it works, any kind of sex. And this is something Raylene’s enjoying. It’s as free as any choice is. Also -“

I stopped, because Lynette punched me lightly on the side of my stomach. She laughed. “I’m kidding, you fucking fool. You were looking too smug, so I thought I’d wind you up. Sorry. But you should’ve seen your face.”

My mouth was still open. I gaped at her. I managed to say, “Oh.” And then she kissed me. It wasn’t a big kiss, but her mouth pressed on mine, compressed and sucked briefly and lightly. She stepped back. I said, “Bloody hell, I hate dialectical arguments. They just … go on, don’t they?”

Lynette looked at me. Then she grinned, probably looking more smug than I’d been. “Gotcha.”

So I said, “Yeah, you did. Scared the arse off me.” And – maybe since I’d decided not to only seconds before – I kissed her. She was stiff for a microsecond. She hadn’t expected it. Then she relaxed and kissed me back. So that was that.

Eventually she stepped back, but put her hand on my arse, squeezing me through my jeans. “What scared you? A little feminist talk and you go running to stand on a chair?”

“No. It’s not that I haven’t heard that argument before. And it’s not that I don’t know why it’s wrong. I mean, incorrect, not immoral or something. But having that argument just now … It’d just be a buzzkill, that’s all. I feared the buzzkill.”

That seemed like a good last line, and she was still holding my arse, so in celebration I moved a little closer and put my hands, one of them holding a cane, on Lynette’s ass.

And because she looked up at me, half brat and half princess, I kissed her again. This kiss stayed, and became open-mouthed when I felt her tongue press against my teeth. We explored teeth and tastes and spit.

This was going well. “I’ve saved you a good seat.”

She said, “ooooooooh!” That was mock-excitement, but I thought it covered up real excitement. She was more turned on by this – by Raylene, by Raylene enacting a strange sexual ritual – and even possibly by me, a little bit – than she was prepared to admit.

So I held her tighter, and she stopped holding her body away from my erection. I let my hand prowl, lifting her borrowed skirt and holding bare thigh, not so far from her cunt. I thought about saying something about her having one of the three best seats in the house, and rejected that vehemently. I could get away with saying that to Raylene or Dorabella, because they were patient with me. Lynette, on the other hand …

So I said the only other thing that had recently come near the top of my mind. “Ah, this is good. You smell good.”

Lynette had decided to join us, though she’d missed Raylene’s first two strokes. I looked down at Dorabella, still filming the development of the second cane stripe. I said, “The irresistible pulling power of your sister’s arse.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgement, still focussed on filming Raylene’s stripes. “It must be magic.”

“Yours’d have the same effect.”

Dorabella shook her head. “My little sister. She’s braver than me.”

I figured that was enough affirmation for Raylene, so I bent down and kissed Dorabella’s forehead, then nose, then, when she lifted her head, her mouth. We kissed, softly, a standing clothed man and a kneeling, near-naked woman. I’d been there before. The cellphone in her hand filmed the carpet. But I straightened up. “Hang on, you two. Don’t go away. Raylene, don’t get up and don’t you dare say a word.”

And I went out to the corridor to greet Lynette. I could have just let her let herself into the room, but I wanted to get an idea of her mood before I resumed Raylene’s caning. Anyway, it might be Raylene’s bedroom, but she wasn’t allowed to move. Or speak.

So I must be the host.

Lynette had reached the landing. Like Dorabella, she looked first at my face, and then dropped her attention to the front of my jeans. There wasn’t much I could do about that: erections can be blatant, and anyway I still had the cane in my hand. Lynette looked up again, quickly enough. Dorabella had thought the state of my cock was hilarious. Lynette, it seemed, was more ambivalent.

She’d changed into one of Dorabella and Raylene’s mother’s skirts, with a swirling maroon and purple pattern. It was a mini-skirt when the mom wore it, but Lynette was a waif, a gamin. It came down to her knees. And she wore a black blouse, from the same source, which had probably also provided her glowing goth lippy.

She hadn’t been able to shower, but she’d changed her clothes and made herself up. She wanted to look her best. That said encouraging things about her attitude to the frankly weird stuff we were up to in Raylene’s bedroom.

But what occurred to me just then was the question of whether Lynette was wearing yesterday’s knickers, or none. I didn’t really care which, but I did care about whether I’d get a chance to find out. I still didn’t think much of my chances. But I said, “Hey! That skirt really suits you! You look great!”

“And you look, uh, happy.” I laughed at that, mostly from relief. It was almost as demure as the outfit she was wearing, but it was an erection joke. I revised my chances slightly upwards. Still under under 50 per cent, though. When I laughed Lynette stopped walking towards me. She was waiting, or considering. Still, she was smiling, with big red lips and lots of kohl about her eyes. She looked like Homeless Cleopatra. So since she wasn’t walking towards me, I walked towards her.

Don’t be a fucking idiot, I told myself. Don’t try to kiss her. And if you tell her she smells good – which I was thinking – she’ll think you’re making some sort of non-washed cunt reference. That makes you a sleaze-bag. So don’t tell her she smells good.

Raylene lowered her body so her breasts and belly rested on wood that, even through her t-shirt, must feel cold and hard. She straightened her legs again so her arse arched and offered itself. I nodded. She didn’t see that, so I said, “I know it hurts, Raylene, but you’ll get through it. Just twelve more with this cane, then we’ll give you a short break. Ok?”

Raylene had to take several ragged breaths before she could answer.

“Yes, master. Um. Do I say, ‘One, thank you, master?'”

I’d spanked her in Lynette’s room when she’d asked a question instead of waiting for me to tell her what to do. But I didn’t want to add to her punishment just then.

Not when she was so obviously trying to be helpful, and good.

So I put my hand on her arse above that first red stripe, and squeezed lightly so she knew it was affectionate. “No, love. I want you to concentrate on what you feel. Counting distracts you. It makes it easier.” This isn’t really true, by the way, though having to count can stop a submissive from floating into subspace. I just didn’t want to have to give her extra strokes when she got the count wrong, as she inevitably would. “And I don’t want you to have it easy, girl. So just do what you’re told. Leave the rest to me.”

That must have reminded her, too, of the spanking she’d had in front of Lynette. “Course. I’m sorry, master.” That sounded sincere. She was.

“It’s ok, love. You’re being good. I’m proud of you.”

Raylene paused, thinking about that: this was praise for being properly submissive while getting the cane. Not many people got that kind of praise, and now she was one of them. “Thank you, master.”

Dorabella crept a little closer, presumably to get a closer picture of the first stripe, now slightly raised, and my hand. The end of the cane she held between her thighs poked the back of her robe from her body, leaving the tops of her thighs and her hips uncovered.

“You’ll need to come back beside me, Dorabella.” She dropped to her knees, and crawled backwards, trying to keep the phone level and steady. I touched the top of her head, and then put my fingers to her mouth as a caress and so she could kiss them if she wanted. She did. Then she looked up at me. She was happy, bright-eyed, though I suspected she had some message she was trying to signal to me, that I couldn’t read.

I raised the cane and drew it back. Dorabella swung the phone to capture that. I tried to look serious for the camera. Then I struck, and Dorabella swivelled.

She missed the instant of impact, but filmed Raylene’s reactions, her muscles straining as she held herself nearly still. The second striperose and colored, more or less horizontal with the first but three centimetres higher.

Raylene tensed then relaxed, her upper body flat to the desk. “Fffffff….”

She arched her ass up for the next. I said, “That’s good. You’re being very brave.”

Raylene wasn’t ready to speak. Her knuckles were white. She gripped the front desk legs for dear life. “Ahhhh…”

I raised the cane again.

But there was bustle on the stairs. “Hold it! Sorry I’m late! Sorry! Can you … wait a sec?”

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